“Oh, I saw you had been drilled somewhere, and I didn’t know but it was in the army. If that was the case you would be in a bad row of stumps among these Home Guards. If one of them could prove that you are a deserter he would get a thirty days’ furlough.”
“And what would be done with me?”
“I am sure I don’t know, but nobody would ever see you again after General Winder got his hands on you.”
“Who is General Winder?” inquired Marcy.
“He is the officer who has charge of all the Southern prisons, and it is owing to him that the Yanks are starving and dying by scores right here in this stockade,” said the sergeant bitterly.
“Starving and dying by scores!” ejaculated Marcy, who had never heard of such a thing before.
“That’s what I said. There were twenty-three bodies brought through that gate yesterday, and eighteen this morning.”
“Why, that’s brutal! it’s downright heathenish!” exclaimed Marcy.
“Well, we can’t give them what we haven’t got, can we?” demanded the sergeant. “Winder could send us grub if he wanted to——”
“I know he could,” interrupted Marcy. “There’s plenty of it along the road between here and Raleigh. I saw it.”